


Apocalypse Daze

by DarkAkumaHunter



Series: Winchester State of Mind [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: (except that one chapter), Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M, POV Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8874325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAkumaHunter/pseuds/DarkAkumaHunter
Summary: Sequel to Respites. Major S4 AU. Team Free Will was a popular place these days. With the Winchesters, their Angel, their Wizard, their Wizard’s master, and their researcher, they were all set to take on the Apocalypse. And then the other wizards came. Nothing could ever be simple.
Slow updates.





	1. The Will of an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the sequel.
> 
> I've finally finished the first chapter, and I'm posting it since I figure you lot deserve it after waiting around so long, but that doesn't mean more will be quick to come. My concentration span for writing has really hit rock bottom this year, so I'm putting a warning up for slow updates first thing just to let you all know. I'm going to do my best with this, but it will take time.
> 
> Follow my new writing [tumblr](http://aj-writes-fic.tumblr.com/) for progress updates and fic chat.

 

If there was one thing Harry Potter didn’t believe in, it was miracles. Coming back from the dead? Sure, it was easy enough under the right circumstances. He’d be a fool to ignore those facts, as they’d helped him out before – and also gotten him into this mess. There was a problem here though. Dean Winchester was dead – properly, undeniably sentenced to the realm of Hell – and no one had called him back. Bobby knew better, knew the consequences, and knew Dean wouldn’t have wanted anyone sacrificing themselves for him. Sam might have, were he given the chance, but Harry had been by his side every single minute for the past four months, regardless of how volatile his moods sometimes became. There was no one else who knew of his death. No one to play God, to rip him out and shove him back into his body.

Miracles just weren’t real. If Dean was really Dean, then that was all well and good, but it meant someone wanted something from them. Or, more specifically, from the Winchester brothers. Because those two were a pair and you’d be a fool to think otherwise. And he could tell all this because Harry had buckets of experience being a pawn of the universe, and things like resurrection never came without a price.

Harry mulled this all over with a looming sense of dread as he snuck back up the stairs, having ascertained Dean’s location before telling him to stay put and hanging up on him. Sam was still asleep when he crept back into the bedroom – it was only quarter to six in the morning, and the duo had gotten content and lazy recently – but for how much longer that would be the case, he couldn’t be sure.

He moved as silently as he could, changing into some jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Then he snatched an empty duffle bag from the back of the wardrobe, and a pair of shoes, and slunk back downstairs. His shoes he left in the entranceway, while he carried the duffle bag down to the basement.

After Dean died, they didn’t really go out on any hunts – too emotionally unstable, too dangerous, no drive to vanquish evil. But they still had all sorts of crazy hunter material that they couldn’t just keep lying about the house, because believe it or not, on rare occasions people did actually come over. Mostly electricians and other handymen, for things Harry didn’t feel equipped to try and fix himself, but still people who might see an excessive collection of guns and knives scattered across the place and decide to call the cops. So they packed away all the knives and guns and holy water into the basement, where it sat safe and sound, locked away from the rest of the world, until it was needed again.

Harry needed it now.

He unlocked the door and dropped the bag on one of the crates littering the room. The place really did look like some sort of armoury now. He started packing things into the bag. Silver, iron, holy water. The works.

One phone call might be enough to have him heading out in the wee hours of the morning, but that didn’t mean he was totally convinced. There were tests, procedures if you will, for this sort of thing, and Harry’d be a fool not to follow them. Did inferi possess memories from life? Who knows? But it was a possibility. And it was what he didn’t know about the world that made him even more suspicious of Dean’s call than the things he _did_ know.

Once he had everything he anticipated needing, Harry zipped the bag shut and slung it over his shoulder. He locked the basement door, slipped the keys into his pocket, and padded softly back up to the first floor. In the entryway he shoved his shoes on, listening carefully to all the early morning sounds his ears could pick up. There was no sound of movement upstairs, so Harry surmised that Sam was still asleep. He was thankful for that. He’d rather hold off the inevitable questioning until he had definitive answers. Or someone else for questions to be directed at. Or, if this all went to shit, a good lie about where he’d gone at six in the morning.

Unlocking the front door Harry headed out into the street. There was a handy apparition spot down the block he’d discovered back when he first moved into the neighbourhood. It was sheltered from view, and not quite close enough to any houses to risk waking someone with the sound.

Harry counted to ten, took a deep breath, and spun on the spot.

**oOoOo**

Once he got there it didn’t take Harry long to locate Dean. He was hovering impatiently by the public phone he must have used to call Harry. There was no way he’d had any money on him when they buried him, so he must have stolen it from somewhere. But a little bit of petty thievery was the least of his problems.

Harry marched towards the shifty figure, stopping a handful of metres away and just staring.

Dean looked like shit.

Actually, no, he didn’t. He was dusty and covered in dirt, and was that a little bit of grass in his hair? But underneath all that, the debris that came with waking up in a shoddy coffin beneath the earth, he actually looked… really good. Healthy. It was strange. Too strange. He’d been dead for four months, his body shouldn’t have looked _that_ good.

Dean shifted awkwardly under the scrutiny and cleared his throat.

“You just going to gawk at me all day?”

Harry frowned, drawn from his inspection, and placed the duffel bag on the ground between them.

“I doubt you need me to state the obvious, but you should be dead. So cut me some slack, I’m allowed to stare.” Regardless, Harry shifted his gaze, kneeling down to rifle through the bag instead.

“What’s in the bag?” There was an edge to Dean’s query. Harry had no idea how Dean thought things were going to go down, but there were procedures for this sort of thing. Theoretically.

Harry straightened again with a sigh, a silver medallion and an iron cross hanging from one hand, a sharp blade held firmly in the other.

“I thought you didn’t like it when I repeated myself?”

Dean scowled at the non-answer. Harry paid it no attention, stepping around the bag and holding the cross and medallion out towards Dean.

“Hold these please.”

Dean opened his mouth, likely to complain, but paused when Harry swung them in his face. His eyebrows furrowed as he got a good look at them. Realisation flashed briefly across his dirty features, but rather than clarity, his expression soured further.

“This is pointless. I don’t know how, but it’s really me. Can we just go? I only called for a ride, not a lecture.”

Harry closed his eyes for a long moment, jaw clenched in frustration. In retrospect, it had been rather nice not having Dean around. He’d had four months free of Dean’s unique brand of stubbornness, and the way he always found issues with any plan Harry came up with. Butting heads like this, well, he should have been expecting it.

“I’m not offering a lecture. I’ll gladly leave that to Bobby or your brother. You either do this, or I leave you here to rot and pretend that phone call never happened. Now, _hold these._ ”

With a snarl, complaint and anger and frustration spun together in a single sound, Dean snatched them from Harry’s grasp. He clenched them tightly in his hand for several long moments, before unceremoniously dropping them to the ground. Holding his unmarked palm out for Harry’s inspection, he glared venomously between Harry and the bag.

Harry sighed, tucking the knife momentarily into the waistband of his jeans and crouching to collect the now dusty items. “I’m going to pretend this pointless rebellion is a by-product of your overall confusion at being alive when you shouldn’t be, and not simply you being an argumentative pain in the ass. I _am_ trying to help, you realise. You’d be absolutely furious if I got Sam killed because I took your word at face value and you ended up being a psychotic shifter or something.”

Dean refused to dignify that with a response, and kicked petulantly at the ground.

“Fine then.”

With an agility and speed Harry hadn’t made use of in quite a number of months, Harry shot back to his feet, grabbed Dean’s wrist securely with his left hand, and retrieved the knife. Allowing Dean a semblance of choice in the matter was getting them nowhere, so he was done with asking permission. With a little more force than technically necessary, Harry slashed a line across Dean’s palm, watching dispassionately as blood beaded along his torn skin.

Dean fought back against the grip only after the fact, startled by the lack of warning. Harry relinquished his grasp without comment, fetching a cloth from his pocket and wiping the blade.

“I swear to god, if you keep doing that then I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”

Though it was quite obviously a rather angry threat of bodily harm, Harry merely snorted in amusement. “Just try me Winchester. We’ll see who ends up in the dirt.” Dean may have _looked_ perfectly healthy, but no man could be fighting fit straight after rising from the dead. Even then, where Dean was brute force, Harry was agile grace. Maybe he wouldn’t _win_ a fight against him, but that didn’t mean he’d go down easy either. If Dean forced this into a punch-up then so be it, but Harry was fairly certain he was all bark and no bite at the moment.

He sheathed the knife and dropped it back into the bag. There were plenty of random bits and bobs left in there, but most of it was retaliatory measures on the off chance that he _was_ being duped. Despite the unlikeliness of the entire thing, he hadn’t been overly concerned about the possibility in the first place, but with the life he’d lived it was always better to be safe than sorry, even if that just meant going through the motions.

“Are you fit for apparating or are you going to punch me in the face if I touch you?”

Dean flexed the fingers of his non-injured hand. He seemed to be seriously considering whether the act would be worth it or not. Harry wouldn’t leave him _here_ , in this strangely wrecked ghost town (which, now that he thought about it, definitely hadn’t been like this four months ago), but he wasn’t against the idea of dumping him halfway across Jackson and making him walk to the house from there.

Finally, Dean shrugged. “Just get me out of this damn place.”

Slinging the duffle bag over his shoulder Harry shook his head. “Never any gratitude with you is there?” Regardless, he complied. He wanted to be home, even if that home was about to get a hell of a lot more chaotic. With a muttered instruction to close his eyes and hold his breath, Harry grabbed Dean’s shoulder and pictured the alleyway.

**oOoOo**

Dean didn’t utter a single word on the way down the street, not even his usual complaints about how uncomfortable and stupid apparation was. Harry was both perturbed by – Dean was never one to bite back a complaint for the sake of others – and grateful for the silence, as he was feeling a little woozy. He’d never been overly skilled at apparating – unsurprising as he’d never taken any actual lessons in it, and he wasn’t sure if his disconnect with his magic was in this case helping or hindering – and consecutive trips always left him off-balance.

Unfortunately, in this case the silence left much to be desired. It was never fun to be around Dean when he was stewing in silence, because it usually meant he was angry, or trying to process emotions he didn’t like dealing with, and he would inevitably blow up at someone. When he was in the vicinity, that someone often tended to be Harry.

It made the short walk feel even more like a death sentence than it already did.

The lights were on downstairs when they arrived back at the house. Harry sighed. It was a shame, but not a surprise – they may have gotten into a habit of lazy, slow-starting mornings, but whenever Harry _did_ get up first (a rare occurrence for sure) Sam had never lasted longer than an hour without him, usually less. He’d hoped he would have moved fast enough to avoid an immediate confrontation but, well, luck never had been on his side.

He considered giving Dean a quick run-down of things he’d missed while six feet under before heading inside, but ultimately decided not to bother, saying only “Try not to be a dick,” before unlocking the front door and slipping into the hallway, leaving him alone outside.

In the kitchen, Sam was cooking omelettes, calm and unhurried even upon waking to an empty house. For a moment Harry simply stood in the doorway, bag hanging from his fingers, and watched the little scene of domesticity with a fond smile and a heavy heart. He was about to shatter the carefree bubble they’d built for themselves.

Dean slamming the front door shut startled him back into motion. Harry dropped the bag and darted into the kitchen to give Sam a good morning kiss before everything went to hell in a handbasket.

Sam smiled down at him when he pulled away, but his eyebrows furrowed in question when Harry slid around him to turn off the element.

“I’m afraid breakfast is going to have to wait,” Harry said in lieu of an explanation. The question turned to concern at his tone, serious and not coy the way he usually was when he had better things in mind than food.

“Harry?” Sam cupped his face in one hand, staring apprehensively into his eyes. “What’s going on?”

Harry wrapped his fingers gently around Sam’s wrist. He opened his mouth, searching for the best way to phrase things, but Dean beat him to the punch.

“You took the words right out of my mouth Sammy. What _is_ going on here?”

Instantly tension raced through Sam, his fingers stiff against Harry’s cheek. Wide-eyed, he glanced left, towards the source of the question. Harry sighed heavily through his nose and tossed a glare in the same direction.

“What did I _just_ finish telling you?” Harry protested, tugging Sam’s hand back down to his side and cradling it soothingly between his own. Dean’s gaze followed the action pointedly, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Oh no, you don’t get to boss me around when you’re being all touchy-feely with my little brother.”

“Is that _really_ the most pressing issue right now? Or are you just being petty? If that’s the case I should have left you to wallow in that ghost town for at least a few more hours.”

“It’s like you’re just begging me to hit you.”

“You wouldn’t da-”

“SHUT UP!”

Harry flinched as Sam’s voice rang through the kitchen. Across from them, Dean did the same.

“Sorry. Just. _Please_ , be quiet for a minute.” Sam’s shoulders were hunched forward, and Harry ached to soothe him, but he wasn’t sure it was a good time for physical comfort. “I don’t… I don’t understand what’s going on.” He closed his eyes and turned away from Dean. “Harry… what’s happening?”

“Listen, I don’t really have any of the details either, so I’ll just state the facts. I got a call this morning – well, _you_ got a call this morning, but you never wake up when your phone rings so I answered it – and it was Dean on the other end – or someone who sounded like him anyway. I went out to meet him, and I tested him, and he’s human, somehow. It’s _actually him_. _How_ is something I don’t know the answer to though…”

Dean bristled when Harry glanced over at him in question. “Hey, don’t look at me, I’m as clueless as you are.”

“…You’re lucky I’m too wrought out to try any legilimency. There’s a difference between what you can remember and what you experienced after all. Although, I don’t know how well it would work accessing memories you gained while without a physical form. I’m not that great at it and that might be enough to throw me through a loop.”

“Maybe we should lay off the mind magic,” Sam interjected softly before Dean had a chance to work back up to anger. Harry shrugged and let the subject drop without protest. It wasn’t exactly a form of magic he enjoyed trying to use, so unless Dean did something to make it necessary he was perfectly happy not bothering with it.

Things were still tense though. Sam didn’t seem to want to interact with Dean directly, but Harry could tell Dean would rather he left them alone. There were things that needed to be said, he was sure, and though he felt guilty about springing it all on Sam without warning, he needed a bit of space himself to process what it all might mean for them in the days to come.

Harry sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m going to the basement.” He didn’t offer any further explanation. He gave Sam an encouraging smile when Sam touched his arm, retrieved his bag, and disappeared downstairs.

The sound of voices followed him until he shut the door behind him. He didn’t have any interest in eavesdropping on whatever conversation was sure to follow. The Winchester family had a complicated dynamic, and he knew his presence would inevitably be more hindrance than help.

For a short while Harry busied himself with returning everything he’d taken with him to their rightful places. It was likely, with Dean back, that they would have to reorganise their weapons cache (because he would want to go hunting and he’d guilt-trip Sam about not having spent the last four months hunting and Harry wasn’t going to sit back and watch him go without him), but for now everything stayed put in their boxes and crates.

Once that was done, however, Harry started to regret his split-second decision to go downstairs instead of up. Because he didn’t want to intrude on the brothers until he guessed enough time had passed for them to hum and haw through their emotional issues, he couldn’t really leave the basement, because he’d have to pass the kitchen to get upstairs and Sam would definitely notice him and that would be the moment ruined.

It was going to take a while to get used to Dean being around again.

Harry sat on a crate full of bottles of holy water and stared at his phone. Dean said he wasn’t sure what had happened, and regardless of whether or not that was true, Harry was still more than a little curious – and, of course, worried. But Dean wasn’t the only person he could get information from.

“I’m sure even if I don’t call he’ll be in contact before the week is out.”

He _could_ wait. Give Dean some time to recuperate, let his mind settle, see what he remembered, and _then_ try alternate methods. That’s probably what he would have done a few years ago. But why wait when he could actively seek the answers he needed?

He unlocked his phone, typed three numbers, and hit the call button. It rang five times before someone picked up.

_“Heard about the party did you?”_

Harry rolled his eyes. “Party?”

_“You don’t know the details then. Okay. Shoot. What did you call for?”_

“Probably exactly what you thought I called for. I take it something’s happened Downstairs?”

_“Oh, just some light chaos.”_ Crowley laughed, but that wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“Chaos of what variety?”

_“No, please, don’t tell me what tipped you off. It’s not like I’m in the business of_ exchanges _or anything.”_

Merlin, he was in a mood. He’d sounded amused by whatever had happened, but, of course, any upset in Hell would have trickle-down effects for Crowley and his business, so it made sense that he’d be torn between amusement and annoyance.

“Let’s just say that the dead once more walks among us.”

_“Ooh, being cryptic are we? No matter. I can put two and two together. Moose’s brother is back?”_

“Pretty much. So are you going to tell me what happened?”

_“Now now, don’t get your panties in a bunch. I only know hearsay, since I wasn’t there – I’m not one for getting down and dirty with the torturers, you know – but word has it that some suicidal Angel dive-bombed the place. Thanks to you I know the end results of that little venture, but as for the_ why _… At the moment, your guess is as good as mine.”_

Harry blinked in surprise, leaning back on one arm until he was staring up at the ceiling towards the direction of the kitchen. “An… angel? Really?”

_“Come now,”_ Crowley jeered, _“I know you’re not religious, but surely even you can come to the conclusion that if_ we _exist, so do they.”_

“I, well, I guess I’d just never really thought about it. Wow.” He frowned. “Why Dean though? That’s so weird. What was that supposed to accomplish?”

_“Like I said Luv, your guess is as good as mine. I’ll look into it, before you ask, and I’m sure you will too. Watch yourself – those feathered idiots rarely set foot topside, so whatever is happening, it will inevitably be more than you thought it would be.”_

“Story of my life.” Nothing could ever be easy. “Call if you find anything?”

_“The same to you. You’ve gone and piqued my interest now.”_

“Sure. Blame me.” Harry hung up before Crowley could snark back at him. He slumped further back until he was lying atop the crate, his head spinning.

Angels? Resurrection?

His understanding of the world around him was being rewritten yet again, and he honestly wasn’t sure what to do about it. Were things always this confusing when you were on the side-lines and not the main player? Was this what it was like for Ron and Hermione back in school whenever he got himself mixed up in things beyond their understanding?

Harry draped an arm across his eyes. Later, he’d go upstairs, and the three of them were going to have to have a serious talk. Right now, he was going to try and settle the indignant anger that unfurled in his stomach as he thought about how angels were real, yet they’d not lifted a single cosmic finger to aid, well, anyone, and how much it rankled that somehow _Dean Winchester_ was the exception.


	2. Truth or Dare

 

Harry didn’t resurface from the basement until Sam started sending him texts asking where he’d run off to. They didn’t sound worried or emotional at all, so Harry figured that whatever discussion they’d had without him had ended on at least neutral terms, and Dean wasn’t currently on the warpath.

When he traipsed into the kitchen the brothers were both seated at the breakfast bar, stewing in what amounted to a fairly mildly charged silence. He tossed around the idea of asking what they’d talked about, but that would just annoy Dean, and if it was something he needed to know Sam would fill him in later on.

He shifted his weight, rocking ever-so-slightly back and forth on the balls of his feet. He thought on his softly smouldering anger, and on what Crowley had told him, and decided that Dean hadn’t yet earned back Harry’s tactful consideration.

He stepped forward pointedly, drawing their attention, and threw caution to the wind.

“So, word on the street is you were touched by an angel.”

Dean flinched, and his hand automatically crept up to clutch at his shirtsleeve. Harry’s jaw dropped in stunned surprise, cosmic irritation momentarily forgotten, and leaned forward across the counter.

“Wait, seriously? Lemme see!”

Dean glowered at him, angling his torso away from Harry and his curious gaze. Harry wasn’t cowed by it – Dean might think he was a master at glaring, but he fell short of the pure venom he was used to receiving for simply existing. In retrospect, it was _almost_ something to thank Snape for – desensitizing him to the pathetic stink-eye of grumpy hunters.

“Don’t touch me,” Dean bit out, when all Harry did in response was inch a bit further across the counter.

“You can bitch and moan all you want,” Harry said with an eye roll, “but I said angel and you freaked out, so whatever you’re hiding you have to show me.”

“I don’t have to show _you_ anything,” Dean snapped back.

Harry pushed himself back off the counter and raised his hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine. You don’t have to show _me_ , but you _do_ have to show Sam, and he will tell me what he sees, because neither one of us is keen on the idea of this whole mysterious resurrection thing becoming a wide-spread phenomenon that we have to go out and squash. Understand?”

The oldest Winchester grumbled something uncomplimentary under his breath, but most of the fight drained from his posture. At a pleading look from Sam, he reluctantly rolled up his sleeve. Harry leaned forward again to get a better look, but made an obvious show of keeping his hands to himself.

On Dean’s upper arm was a handprint, painfully red in appearance. It looked both new and ancient, and a shared glance with Sam confirmed that no, Dean hadn’t had any marks or scars that anywhere _near_ resembled it before he died.

“Touched by an angel indeed,” Harry murmured, rubbing his chin in thought.

“I don’t get why you’re yammering on about angels,” Dean said, obviously sulking as he rolled his sleeve back down over the handprint. “Yeah, I got that weird mark now, and I don’t know how it got there – or how you even knew about it – but seriously? Angels? That’s crazy talk.”

Stunned, Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise. That surprise doubled when Sam also turned to him in question.

“Really? You’ve been fighting demons, knowingly or not, basically your entire lives, but _angels_ is where you draw the line?” Mentioning the fact that until less than thirty minutes ago the thought had never even crossed his _own_ mind seemed like a bad idea, so he kept that particular fact to himself. Besides, he hadn’t thrown a fuss when the idea was brought to his attention, so even if it _was_ his first time considering the possibility at least he hadn’t dismissed it out of hand like the two brothers were.

Sam offered up a slightly awkward shrug. “It’s just… demons make sense, you know? You look at humanity, and you look at demons, and their influence on earth sort of feels like a fact that people should’ve figured out sooner.”

“Exactly,” Dean butted in. “Demons are shitty and humanity is kinda shitty too. Two and two makes four and all that. But if angels are real then why isn’t the world a better place?”

Harry blinked, rolled the thought about in his mind, cringed at how true it rang with his own thoughts from after the phone call, and shrugged. “Point. But they _are_ the reason you’re sitting in my kitchen right now, so I wouldn’t be so heavy on the insults if I were you. Since we don’t know why they did it or what might make them change their mind.”

“Please don’t antagonise the angels,” Sam added sharply, a fierce look in his eyes. “Whether we want to believe in them or not, Harry brought them up for a reason, and we don’t know a thing about them. I’m not letting you accidentally talk your way back into Hell when I _just_ got you back.”

Dean’s eye twitched. Sam’s words were probably too much of a declaration of affection for Dean’s liking, but even _he_ could tell that this wasn’t a good time for their usual sort of dismissive jokes.

Sam shifted his attention back to Harry. “So, what do we know?”

“Ah, yes, well.” Harry cleared his throat. “Basically? Nothing. All I know is that apparently retrieving a soul from Hell is incredibly risky, and, you know, no mere mortal soul is worth the hassle, so… Congratulations Dean, you’re officially a person of interest. But no one knows why. So we have to figure that one out on our own.”

“Well that’s just fan- _fucking_ -tastic.” Dean slammed his fist on the counter so hard Harry almost imagined he could feel the vibration as it raced across the floor. The only indication Dean gave that it might have hurt was the tense set of his jaw, but since he’d been like that almost constantly since Harry came back into the kitchen it wasn’t exactly a helpful measure. If this were a less earth-shattering sort of conversation, Harry might have made a comment about his temper, but he wasn’t that stupid.

“Calm down Dean.” Eyeing Dean’s clenched fist with some concern Sam tried to bring them back on track. “How are we supposed to investigate when we have nothing to go on?”

“Wouldn’t it be great if we could just, you know, ask?”

Both brothers stared blankly at him.

“Ask who?”

“Oh, I don’t know, the culprit maybe?” With a sigh Harry turned away and started to make himself some coffee. It was going to be a long day. “Surely if we went right to the source we could get some answers.”

“Torture then?”

Harry cast a penetrating stare back over his shoulder at Dean’s tone. It didn’t sound… eager, just… certain. Like that was the obvious answer and they should get right onto it. Sam didn’t appear to have noticed, still too caught up in staring side-long at his once-dead brother to be keeping an ear out for tonal shifts.

“You can’t torture someone who isn’t here,” he replied, instead of bringing it up or dismissing the idea out of hand.

“Can’t ask questions either,” Dean shot back.

“Touché,” he allowed with a shrug. “Theoretically, getting into contact would be pretty simple. If religion knows what it’s talking about at all, then supposedly angels keep an ear out for prayers, right?”

“So what, we just pray?” Dean’s tone was rightfully doubtful. It seemed like an absurdly simple solution to a problem, and anything simple in their line of work usually spelt trouble somewhere underneath.

“We could send up a generic prayer, sure. But that would just go everywhere, and how would we know if it reached the one angel we actually need to talk to? We don’t know the situation. It could be an act of rebellion. Screaming our location out to them might bring judgment down upon us. And that would be rather a bad show since you _just_ made it back to the world of the living.”

“So we need to narrow it down,” Sam supplied. He accepted the mug Harry handed him with a grateful smile, fingers brushing lingeringly as the cup changed hands. Dean watched the motion closely, his expression unreadable. Harry ignored his gaze as he sat another cup on the counter in front of Dean, before leaning back against the fridge with a cup of his own.

“Correct. My intel’s all third-hand, rumour-mongering stuff, but no one seems to know anything specific, identity-wise. That might make things difficult.” Harry took a long sip of coffee as he thought over his next request. “Dean, did anything strange happen to you between waking and me picking you up?”

Dean’s hands were wrapped loosely around the steaming mug, but he wasn’t drinking. Instead, he frowned down into the liquid, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“Strange not including waking up in a coffin?”

Sam made a vaguely distressed noise at the reminder. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, _besides that_.”

“Well, the clearing looked like a damn bomb site. Dunno what it looked like beforehand but I’m pretty sure those trees were probably upright at some point.”

“It must have been from the impact. Maybe they needed your body to pinpoint your soul?” Harry shook his head, not truly looking for answers, and gestured for Dean to continue.

“Right. After that though, when I stumbled upon that old gas station, I went inside. The place was empty, no one around. I was grabbing some change to use the phone to call Sam but then this… _noise_ just filled the place. It was piercing, too high and way too loud for human ears. The windows shattered. Didn’t you see the place?”

“I did. I’d just figured it was an abandoned gas station, broken with age, but it seems that wasn’t the case. Has that happened again since?”

Dean snorted darkly. “Trust me, you’d have noticed if it had.”

Okay, he conceded silently, fair point. But it never hurt to have verbal confirmation. Besides, if it _had_ happened again but he and Sam hadn’t noticed it, that would have still been useful information. _Any_ information was useful information at this point.

“Okay, so while that _could_ have been a totally unrelated coincidentally timed incident, I’m sure I’d be right in assuming that not a single person here believes in that possibility. Which means the glass-shattering frequencies and the blast-site in the clearing are both more than likely related to the angels. So… approach with caution?”

“How about just plain Do Not Approach?” Sam offered weakly, knowing he would immediately be shut down.

“Not a chance Sammy. Either we go to them or they eventually come to us, and I’d rather set the time and place.”

They lapsed into a frustrated silence.

With so very little to go off of – essentially nothing really – it was going to be a bit harder to come up with a plan of action than they’d like. Harry still had plenty of contacts in hunting circles, but _Harry_ had always been the research guy in those relationships. Hunters weren’t dumb by any stretch of the imagination, but the things they knew best were the things they’d encountered in person. Given what Crowley had said, it was highly unlikely that any living hunter had ever knowingly come into contact with an angel – they would be no help here, and asking for advice would only spread rumours across the country, which they could really do without for the time being.

He didn’t want to rope Ellen into anything potentially dangerous, even if she had more contacts than he did. But that still left one person they could turn to.

“Sam, could you call Bobby?”

Sam blinked bemusedly at the sudden change of subject.

“Yes, but why? It’s not like you don’t have his number.”

“That is true, and while I _do_ need to talk to him, it’d be best to fill him in on the whole, well, _situation_ first. He’d take it a lot better from you than from me, no doubt.”

Sam let out a soft “oh” of realisation and glanced at Dean again. He stood from the breakfast bar, but hovered uncertainly, unwilling to leave but determined to get any answers they could.

Harry smiled softly. “Call him upstairs. Dean and I’ll still be here – and in one piece – when you get back. Promise.”

With a decisive nod Sam picked up his half-full mug and left the room.

Harry sipped calmly at his slowly-cooling coffee and listened to the sound of Sam’s feet on the stairs. Only once he heard the bedroom door swing shut did he put his cup down and shift his attention to the man sitting in front of him.

Their eyes met in the quiet of Sam’s departure. Harry folded his arms loosely across his stomach. It was obvious Dean had something on his mind; briefly Harry considered waiting him out, letting the silence nudge him into speaking. Instead he cleared his throat and opened his mouth.

“I’m not going to pry about what you and Sam discussed. Not only is that your business but I just _know_ it’ll be like pulling teeth with you. But you clearly have something you want to say to me. Go ahead. As long as you don’t start yelling Sam can’t hear you from upstairs.”

At first he thought Dean was going to hold his silence. Then his fingers twitched around porcelain – the liquid inside still untouched – and a little bit of the fight eased from his body.

“Sammy told me you two are…” he lifted one hand from the mug and twirled it uselessly in the air.

Harry’s lips curled in amusement. “Dating?”

Dean frowned, but sighed and shook himself. “Yeah. That.” He rubbed a hand restlessly through his hair. “Guess I always knew you were weirdly loyal to him – what kind of idiot tries to trade his life for someone else’s when they aren’t even related? It didn’t work, but that’s beside the point. I just never thought it would end up, well, here.”

“Is this going to be a _problem_ for you Dean?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he growled back, but it was more tired than angry. “It’s not a _problem,_ it’s just… unexpected. Maybe it wasn’t sudden for you but this is all very sudden for me. And Sammy never even told me he liked guys, how was I supposed to see this coming? He had a fiancée you know.”

“I’m aware.”

“Kid was a real mess when she died, so I guess I should just be happy he’s finally moving on. Was starting to think he might never get there. I’m not _thrilled_ that it’s with you, but at least I know you’re willing to die for him. That you’re not _breakable_. But,” he jabbed a finger aggressively in Harry’s direction. “If you break my little brother’s heart, that’s it. You’re gone. Forever. Capiche?”

Harry’s smile turned a shade wistful. He hid it behind the rim of his cup.

“Never thought I’d be getting the shovel talk from you.” They both chose to ignore the depressing reality of why that was.

“Yeah, well, being able to wiggle your fingers and make someone invisible doesn’t mean I can’t take you in a fight.”

Well aware that Dean was the far superior hand-to-hand fighter but unwilling to voice the thought Harry simply shrugged one shoulder.

“Can I ask you an invasive personal question? You don’t have to answer it.”

Dean glowered a little but didn’t voice a protest.

“Do you remember anything from your time in Hell?”

Harry watched Dean closely as he voiced the question. Sam might not have noticed, too close to the matter, but Dean had that same mild twitchiness about him now that he’d had back when he first started having hallucinations about the hellhounds.

Dean’s expression, though hardly open beforehand, immediately closed off. He wouldn’t look directly at Harry.

“No,” he shot back in answer, voice cold as ice and void of emotion. “Not a thing.”

Harry hummed in acknowledgment and turned his back on the hunter to give him a moment to collect himself. He rinsed his cup out in the sink and listened for movement from upstairs. There hadn’t been any raised voices, but even if Bobby was pissed Sam wasn’t likely to shout back – while it was considerate it also made it hard to judge how well the conversation was going, and to guess if he needed to be on the defensive or not when it was his turn.

**oOoOo**

Harry had drifted into the living room and plucked a book off the shelves at random to browse for a bit by the time Sam came back downstairs. Dean was still by the breakfast bar, but he’d spun about in his seat to keep Harry in his line of vision instead of in his blind spot. No matter how adamantly he denied having any memory of his time in Hell, Harry got the feeling that Dean wouldn’t be comfortable with people standing where he couldn’t see them for a long time to come.

(Dean would definitely throw a punch if he so much as breathed an _allusion_ to the phrase post-traumatic stress, but Harry was just calling it like he saw it. Merlin knows the man had been through more than enough shit to qualify.)

So that was how Sam found them: Dean brooding at the counter and Harry staring absently at a page halfway through a book on demonology while curled up in an armchair.

Harry didn’t actually notice his return until his feet came into his line of sight, less because he’d been engrossed in what he was reading and more because he was just lost in thought, trying to ignore the weight in Dean’s persistent gaze.

“Bobby’s willing to talk to you now,” Sam informed him, holding out his phone over the thick book.

Harry glanced up as he accepted it. Sam’s face was a shade paler than usual, and if Harry squinted he could see a red tinge to his eyes. He didn’t ask how the talk had gone.

Closing the book and straightening up in the chair, Harry rested the phone on the arm and put it on speaker. There was no need to try and keep the conversation private – he was only here to ask for information.

“Heya Bobby,”

_“Kid.”_

Harry smiled wryly. Nothing like being comatose in a guy’s house and then revealing the existence of another sort of magic to form a weird bond with someone.

“Listen, this might sound a little odd, but can you think of any ways to ascertain a being’s identity without actually being in contact with them?”

The static hum of an open phone line crackled in the quiet as his question sunk in.

Bobby let out a heavy sigh. _“Straight back into hunting without so much as a how-do-you-do. You’re turning into a right Winchester yourself.”_

Since Harry wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a compliment or an insult he let it pass without comment.

_“I know a psychic y’all could get in touch with. Best damn psychic in the country, if you ask me. I don’t know if she’ll get you what you want, but she’ll try everything she knows. That’s about the only thing I can think of off the top of my head.”_

“Is that agreeable?” Harry asked, speaking to both brothers, but mostly to Dean.

“At this point I’m willing to try pretty much anything,” Dean admitted gruffly.

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. It was one thing to be told Dean was back, another to hear his voice, and it would be something else entirely when Bobby first got to see him with his own eyes.

“Send us her details and we’ll look into it,” Harry requested, tactfully not acknowledging Bobby’s emotional state.

_“I’ll send you her address and meet you there. I’m not leaving you idjits to do this on your own again, not while I’m still fighting fit.”_

And honestly, Harry should have seen that one coming from a mile away. But he didn’t have any problems with it – another head and another pair of hands were always welcome when facing the unknown.

“Roger that boss-man.” Bobby huffed in exasperation. “We’ll see you in a day or two then.”

_“I’ll be waiting.”_

Harry ended the call and handed the phone back to Sam.

“That’s more of a plan than we had five minutes ago. Go team.”

Dean snorted an ugly laugh – amused but bitter – and Harry shrugged it off.

“Go have a shower or something,” Harry continued, standing up and directing the command to Dean. “You need one and we know you want one. We’ll sort out a route and pack or whatever while you’re getting cleaned up, and then we can head out.”

“I’m driving,” Dean interjected, arguing for argument’s sake since he couldn’t refute the fact that he desperately wanted to properly wash off the graveyard grime that lingered from his coffin nap.

“Never said you weren’t.” Harry pointed at the kitchen door. “Shower. Go.”

He side-eyed Harry for a long moment, but the siren song of hot water and soap was too much to resist for long, and he left without further protest.

**oOoOo**

By the time Dean finished with his shower and scrounged up some mostly-fitting clothes that were actually in one piece, Sam and Harry had not only mapped out a route to go meet Bobby and his psychic friend but also refilled Dean’s beloved car with some of their hunting gear. Almost everything, except for a couple of ‘in case of emergency’ blades and a couple vials of holy water, had ended up down in the basement with all the rest of their collective hunting supplies once they made the mutual decision to give it all a rest for the time being.

They put back everything they could remember being in the secret trunk compartment, not only because heading out on the road unarmed was just asking for trouble, but because Dean didn’t need to glimpse the living proof of exactly how they’d felt about hunting while he’d been gone. They all needed a sense of normalcy for now, however fake, and rocking the boat wasn’t worth it.

Dean was just lucky Harry had convinced Sam to keep his stereo mods to Harry’s car instead of messing around with Dean’s.

“We ready to go or what?” Dean queried the moment he set foot in the kitchen. Not an inch of him had doubted Harry’s proclamation that they’d finish up while he was in the bathroom. That, or he was simply antsy to leave. It was a feeling they could all relate to.

“We’re good Dean, we’re good,” Sam assured, gently herding him towards the front door. Harry followed lazily behind them, one hand curled around the strap of his magically-expanded messenger bag, letting a feeling of fondness wash over him as the two brothers bickered softly amongst themselves.

It had been a real roller-coaster sort of day, and it was barely lunchtime.

Harry schooled his expression as he locked the door behind him.

Someone was watching him.

This was not an uncommon occurrence. It had begun a little over a month ago, and didn’t seem likely to cease any time soon. Harry had never been able to pinpoint the actual physical entity engaged in their observation, but he’d become familiar with their dark, non-human presence – an easy feat as they, perhaps smugly (though seemingly well within their right to be as such), made no attempt at masking their presence.

Sam was still blissfully unaware of the semi-recent development, as Harry had refused to bring it up without anything substantial to even pick out if they were malevolent or benign, and he didn’t appear to have noticed anything out of the ordinary himself. Whatever his demon-given sensitivities were, this was not one of them.

As for Dean – he glanced over his shoulder to where Dean was carefully inspecting his car – it was too hard to tell if the tense line of his shoulders and the way he twitched ever so slightly at unexpected movement was a hangover from his extremely recent escape from torture and imprisonment, or if he too could sense their watcher. Perhaps it was both. He wouldn’t ask, and Dean wouldn’t say unless he was certain it was real and not a phantom, lingering sense of paranoia and panic.

Harry reached out with his senses as he traipsed over to the car, trying once more in vain to determine who the feeling was coming from. There was a man walking his dog, a woman going for a run, and some lawn-care professional was parked a few houses up the street – and that wasn’t even taking into account the people who _lived_ on the street, or potential visiting relatives or new renters.

The longer he was exposed to it the more Harry was sure that the presence felt demonic, except previous experience had shown that if there was only one or two demons about, he could generally _identify_ the demons if he got close enough. This was demonic but _not_ , with an aura that radiated out over a large area without a noticeable centre.

The only bright side to the whole affair was that whatever it was, whoever they were, they seemed content in their observation.

At least for now.

The uncertainty of what might happen when they changed their minds lingered as Harry climbed into the backseat and Dean turned on the engine.

Only time would tell.

**oOoOo**

The journey out to the psychic’s place was a long one – not the longest Harry had ever pulled, with or without the Winchesters, but long enough to be uncomfortable. Long enough to wish he knew the proper technique for apparation, or at least a method that worked less chaotically with the way his magic ebbed and flowed these days beneath his skin, untethered by a wand and without proper direction.

Dean was toeing the speed limit the entire way, and wasn’t keen on stopping; it took a group effort just to get him to stop for dinner, and they wouldn’t let him back in the car afterwards, opting to spend the night in a motel instead.

“Even if we do make it sometime today,” Sam had said, “it’ll be pretty late, and we’d just be making a nuisance of ourselves. Sleep. We’ll get there tomorrow.”

Harry wasn’t convinced Dean actually got any sleep, but at least he didn’t take off without them in the middle of the night.

And so, after a cheap and greasy breakfast at a nearby diner, they finished the last leg of their journey with only Dean’s cassettes blasting loudly inside the car to cover the nervous, anticipatory tension that hung between them.

**oOoOo**

Bobby was waiting for them when they arrived. He looked a little like he hadn’t slept, but he always looked like that to Harry, and it was hard to tell if it was just the lifestyle taking its toll on the older man or if he was _actually_ losing sleep.

While Dean didn’t think twice about getting straight out of the car, part of Harry wanted to hang back awhile, so as not to interrupt if Bobby decided he had a thing or two he needed to say. He’d awkwardly third-wheeled enough familial dressing-downs in the Weasley household to know that he’d rather avoid them if at all possible.

Sam didn’t seem to share his concern, coaxing him out of the car with a look and a tilt of his head, and he turned out to be right not to worry; all Bobby did was wrap Dean up in an impressive bear hug and pat him on the shoulder before getting straight down to business.

“It’s good to see you boys in one piece,” Bobby called in greeting when Harry and Sam stepped over towards him and Dean.

“Same to you old man,” Harry returned, only to be cuffed upside the head by Sam. He shot him a disgruntled look, but Sam was laughing quietly, so he just rolled his eyes and continued on. “This the place then?”

Bobby nodded without offering up any further explanation, then turned to knock on the front door.

The door swung wide open after maybe twenty seconds, revealing a woman in a dark tank and faded jeans. She appeared older than Harry and the Winchesters, but younger than Bobby.

Harry had never met a psychic before, only the barely legitimate seer Sybil Trelawney, but he was thankful to see that she seemed far more normal than his old divination professor – the lack of shawls and beads was really a breath of fresh air. Not to mention the literal fresh air he could sense from her house, which wasn’t suffocated with a dozen different types of incense.

“Bobby!” the woman cried, wrapping the old hunter up in a surprisingly strong hug. She turned to them once she released Bobby and offered a slightly predatory grin. “And these must be the Winchesters? Could’ve sworn there was only two of them though. But the more the merrier.”

Harry flushed uncomfortably under the heat of her gaze and cleared his throat.

“Boys, this is Pamela Barnes. Pamela, this here’s Sam and Dean, and the scruffy one is Harry Peverell.”

“Not a Winchester then. A friend?”

Dean snorted. “Hardly. Them two’re lovebirds.”

Inwardly Harry despaired. Dean had gone straight from confused anger to shovel talks to ‘affectionate’ teasing. He wasn’t sure which end of the spectrum was worse.

“A shame,” Pamela offered with an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “You’re unattached though, right tiger?” She winked at Dean and his entire countenance lit up.

Of _course_ he would let his libido win out over his other emotions.

“Can we go inside?” Harry asked abruptly, interrupting their little moment or whatever uncomfortably charged thing was happening right in front of him. “We should talk business first, right?”

“Ah, yes.” Pamela clapped her hands together and turned back towards the house. “Business before pleasure, of course. Come in.”

She led them through the house and into an oddly decorated sitting room. It had a very occult vibe to it – it must have been her primary base of operations for whatever she needed to do to utilise her abilities.

“Now, Bobby here said you boys were looking for something. I tried a few less involved rituals after he called, but I couldn’t find anything. So, how do you lot feel about a séance?”

Harry had absolutely no idea what that entailed, but Bobby trusted her so it couldn’t be anything too bad. Still.

“Is it all right if I lay down some ground rules first?”

Pamela glanced at him, gaze calculating.

“That depends, what for?”

“Safety. Likely yours more so than ours.” She looked a little offended, but Harry held up a hand to stave off any protests. “I don’t doubt your skill in what you do. Could you hear me out?”

“Fine, I’m listening.”

“Thank you. First off, we already know _what_ we’re looking for. We don’t need to know where they are or what they look like – we only need their name. Secondly, there is a chance they may notice you searching for them. If they offer warnings or urge you away, please listen. We don’t want to anger them, and we also don’t want to put you in unnecessary danger. Remember, all we need is a name. Are those acceptable parameters?”

Pamela studied them each in turn, taking in the seriousness of the situation.

“Well that was vague and mysterious. But yes, I agree to your terms.” She then went about setting up for the séance.

A séance turned out to be a much tamer affair than Harry was expecting after Pamela had referred to it as an involved ritual. They all sat around the circular table in the middle of the room and held hands. Pamela was using the fiery handprint on Dean’s arm as an anchor point or locator beacon for the ritual, her own hand stretched over the raw-looking skin.

What surprised Harry the most was that when Pamela invoked the ritual she did it in English. Perhaps his time both in the wizarding world and the time spent exorcising demons had tinged his worldview, but he’d almost come to simply expect anything even mildly occultist to wind up in Latin.

(But it was ridiculous to expect a person to learn Latin just because they had latent psychic powers, wasn’t it?)

With his eyes obediently closed Harry could only hear Pamela’s voice and the soft breaths of everyone in the room. Bobby’s hand was loose in his right and Sam’s tight in his left.

If someone had sat him down in front of a muggle psychic ten years ago and told him to participate in a séance, he would’ve been out of there in a flash. But time and distance and experience had all lent themselves to him so that he had come to learn to trust magic and powers different to those he’d come to accept as the one and only reality.

Harry wasn’t parsing the words Pamela said, instead listening to her tone of voice. She did grow tense and wary after a few minutes, but before he made himself speak up to remind her to be careful she ended the séance.

With eyes open and hands to themselves the quartet watched Pamela watch them as she mulled over whatever she had seen or heard or felt.

“Something tells me I don’t want to know what you boys are getting involved with,” she said eventually, a rueful statement on a soft exhale. “Castiel. That’s who you’re looking for.”

A name. They had a name. For once step one of a plan involving the Winchesters had gone off without a hitch.

“Thank you,” Sam said, voice heavy with meaning, while Harry was lost somewhere between triumph and a sense of unease.

Pamela waved off his thanks with a smile. “Don’t worry about it. Just be careful out there.”

“We will.”

Pamela muttered something about water and briefly left the room. In her absence Sam turned to his brother with a teasing half-smirk.

“If you want a little alone time with her we can always leave without you.”

For a moment Dean looked sorely tempted; then he punched Sam in the arm and climbed to his feet.

“Like hell, we’ve got an angel to gank.”

“Interrogate, Dean,” Harry corrected. “We’ve got an angel to _interrogate_.”

“Sure, whatever, same thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is 100% my bad, I didn't mean like 6 month breaks when I warned about slow updates, but it is what it is.
> 
> And look, Pamela gets to keep her eyes this time! Good for her.
> 
> To keep an eye on my updates follow my [tumblr](http://aj-writes-fic.tumblr.com)
> 
> 29/10/17 - I cut off the end of this chapter because I was rewriting it so it's a bit shorter now but the replacement section (aka what will now be the next chapter) is significantly longer than the original scene it's replacing.


	3. Truth or Dare Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To old readers: hey, welcome back. This is a rewrite of the final scene in chapter two (the original of which has now been deleted) which takes place after the boys visit Pamela. It got a little out of hand, but fits more closely with my original outline, and maybe I can get my butt in gear for the actual third chapter now.
> 
> To new readers: welcome! None of that stuff matters to you because you never saw the original. Have fun.

They debated the Angel Situation over lunch.

While they were all in agreement that they wanted – and more than that, needed – to summon this Castiel, they were at odds as to how they wanted to go about it.

Dean wanted wards and sigils and traps, protection from the angel in case they got violent. It was a nice thought, surprisingly safety-conscious for a Winchester, but Bobby had had to burst Dean’s bubble with a pointed reality check: they didn’t know jack shit about angels or how to protect against them. At this point they were practically waist deep in demon lore, but angels were a whole new ball game.

Sam suggested that, since they couldn’t cover some room in wall-to-ceiling wards for protection, they find a wide outdoor space for the summoning, somewhere they would be able to keep lots of distance between themselves and Castiel in case things turned bad.

No one was super keen on Sam’s suggestion, but what Bobby and Dean said got Harry thinking.

Pushing away his empty plate, Harry slid out of the booth, already slipping into thought.

“I’m going to make a phone call,” he said absently, patting Sam reassuringly on the shoulder as he turned to leave the diner.

As he left he heard Dean say something in an incredulous tone, but the words themselves were muted, his focus already shifting to his phone as he dug it out of his pocket and typed in three familiar numbers.

Harry made himself comfortable on the hood of Bobby’s truck while the phone rang. He wasn’t in the mood for the lecture Dean would likely give him if he was caught sitting on the Impala.

A darkly amused voice drew him out of his thoughts.

“ _Well well well, you’re a talkative one this week aren’t you? Angel hunt go bust already?”_

Harry tipped his head back and laughed.

“Such faith. No. We know how to get them to come to us, we just don’t know how to make them stay. It got me thinking – is there an angelic version of a Devil’s Trap?”

On the other end of the line, Crowley scoffed.

“ _Of course there is. You try hard enough and anything can be trapped. Humans are, of course, notoriously easy to trap.”_

“I know, I know, we’re all idiots who don’t look before we leap. I suppose the better question is, do _you_ know how to trap an angel?”

“ _To quote a friend, ‘such faith.’”_ There was a sound akin to a rustling of papers for a short while, before Crowley spoke again. _“It seems like holy fire’ll do the trick just nicely.”_

“Right.” Harry sighed. “Because that sounds really subtle and totally easy to organise.”

_“Obviously you don’t just light the fire and hope they fly into it. Have you learnt nothing from our partnership?”_

“Fine, fine. What am I burning and where do I get it?”

_“Legally? In the human world? While holy oil does sound very religious, I’m not sure churches keep that sort of thing in this day and age. Like I said the other day, it’s been a long time since those bastards bothered touching down on your land.”_

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

“So you have a solution but I can’t use it.”

_“Did I say those words?”_

“So you can get me holy oil then?”

_“It’ll cost you.”_

Harry rolled his eyes, even though the demon couldn’t see him.

“How long have we known each other? I knew you’d ask for something in return. Deals are your thing after all.”

_“You’re not going to ask what I want?”_

“It’s never something I can’t pay. How long will it take you?”

_“I should be able to scrounge some up within the next twenty-four hours. I’m sure you boys are just chomping at the bit waiting to catch yourselves an angel.”_

“Lunchtime tomorrow then,” Harry agreed easily. “You know how to find me.”

_“Indeed I do,”_ Crowley said, and then he hung up.

Harry put his phone back in his pocket, and when he looked up he found all three of his companions watching him through the window of the diner. He waved at them, and they hurriedly glanced away, except for Sam, who waved back.

They’d all finished eating before Harry left the building, nursing the remains of hot drinks and ruminating over a game plan, so he felt content to wait outside for them to pay and come to him, rather than head back inside.

Sam was the last out the door, and Harry could tell that he’d been caught out already. Safe behind Bobby and Dean Sam mouthed Crowley’s name in question. Harry inclined his head just slightly in affirmation. Briefly, Sam glanced heavenwards, as though questioning his life choices, but when he caught Harry’s gaze again he merely rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“I think we can make your plan work,” Harry said to Dean, obediently sliding off the car when Bobby smacked him in the shoulder.

“What? Where was this support when these two bozos were naysaying all my ideas?” Dean jabbed a thumb aggressively in Sam’s direction.

“That’s what the phone call was for. You didn’t want false support did you? If you did then I’m sorry I didn’t lie for you.”

Dean huffed out an aggravated breath but otherwise held his tongue.

“What did you find then?”

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Harry clapped his hands together then spread his arms wide. “As you all know I’ve accumulated rather a lot of information on demonology over the years. While you were muttering about traps and protection wards I got to thinking this: what if there’s an angelic version of a Devil’s Trap? A bit of subtle manoeuvring and it would solve all of our problems.”

“Kid’s got a point,” Bobby chimed in, voice gruff but approving.

“Did you find one?” Sam asked, already knowing the answer but playing along regardless.

“Indeed I did. It _does_ however require supplies that we don’t have, so my friend is sorting that out for us. He’s good at rustling stuff up, but we won’t be able to summon the angel until tomorrow. Maybe that’ll test your patience a little Dean, but it means we have plenty of time to pick a good spot for this little meet-and-greet.”

Dean squinted suspiciously at Harry. “How do we know it’ll work?”

“We don’t,” he admitted easily. “But holy fire sounds pretty fucking legit, right? And word on the street is there’s hardly been a lot of angels earthside in the last couple hundred years, so it’s not like anyone’s had a chance to try it out recently. We’ll be leading the way in angelic safety protocols.”

“Now you sound like you’re promoting some shady clinical drug trial.”

Bobby cuffed Dean lightly in the back of the head. Harry laughed at Dean’s disgruntled but half-hearted complaint.

“Let’s just go find somewhere to stay the night,” Sam implored them, gesturing towards the cars meaningfully.

“Unless you’d rather spend the night at Pamela’s, now that you know we’ve got some time to kill,” Harry added.

Far maybe half a second, Dean paused, then he turned and gave Harry some serious stink eye.

“If I leave you’re gonna plan this shit without me and I’m gonna get stuck doing something embarrassing. Like hell am I letting that happen.”

With his hands in the air in surrender Harry pleaded his innocence, but Dean wasn’t budging. As payback, Harry and Sam were subjected to all sorts of crass jokes on the way to a motel, and they both wondered if it wouldn’t have been easier to hide their relationship than have to hear Dean talking about their sex life.

**oOoOo**

Most of the hours that followed Harry’s call to Crowley were uneventful. They found a motel, booked two rooms, found a decent place to carry out their summoning, and then basically went their separate ways for the evening. In the morning they went back to the same diner for breakfast, and then they returned to the motel to wait.

They all gathered in Harry and Sam’s room.

Harry was sprawled out on the spare bed, deep in discussion with Bobby about the effectiveness versus efficiency of various methods of creature identification, when a rush of heat flared up at the base of his neck. He trailed off mid-sentence, launching himself up off the bed, but he was barely on his feet before there was a knock at the door.

Sam, who was closest to the door, glanced up from his laptop and over at Harry, a question in his gaze. Harry nodded. For a moment, Sam’s entire body seemed to slump in resignation – which Harry could totally get behind, he shouldn’t’ve let Bobby and Dean hang out in their room when he was expecting a delivery – before he straightened up, placed his laptop gently on the mattress beside him, and climbed to his feet. Because they had to pretend to be safety conscious, Sam locked the security chain in place before cracking the door open and peering out. He tossed a slightly rattled look Harry’s way when he shut the door to unlock it, and Harry only had a mere second to wonder what had caused it before the door swung open, revealing their guest.

It was Crowley.

In hindsight, Harry should’ve known that Crowley was never too busy to rock the boat, and that his assumption that Crowley would just send one of his lackeys as a delivery man was naively optimistic. But he just hadn’t put two and two together until it was thrown in his face.

Unfortunately they had an attentive audience, and Harry couldn’t afford to be caught in his confusion. Biting back some of the more sensitive questions aching to be asked, Harry plastered on a welcoming smile and stepped forward to join Sam at the door.

“I’m sure a courier would’ve been simpler,” Harry said in lieu of a greeting, arms already inching forward to take the ostentatious porcelain pot from Crowley’s grasp.

“Nonsense.” The demon smirked and took a pointed step over the threshold and into the room. “If you want something done right, do it yourself, right?”

Harry’s smile twitched. He waved Sam off so they didn’t paint as hostile a picture for Bobby and Dean, but remained in front of the open door, the toes of his shoes almost flush against Crowley’s as he took one more step forward.

“Am I to take it that this means you’re cashing in the favour I owe you in payment right now? It’s a little inconvenient.”

“So quick to try and turn me away. Another person might be offended.”

Harry knew he didn’t actually have much right to deny Crowley his payment, so he held his tongue.

“It’ll be the easiest favour you’ve ever given,” Crowley assured him, subtly shifting the pot just out of reach whenever Harry tried to make a grab for it. “I just want to watch.”

Harry blinked dumbly at him, hands frozen outstretched in the air.

“Watch?”

“I want to see the trap in action.”

Ah. Harry’s eyes closed in resignation and his hands fell back to his sides. Crowley wanted to poke fun at the angel. Of course he did.

He took a step back, forfeiting their stand-off, and glanced over his shoulder at the others.

“It’s your rodeo, Dean.”

“Hmm?” The man in question shook himself, surprised by the sudden change from bystander to participant.

“Is it cool with you if Crowley sticks around while you summon your angel friend?”

Dean gestured loosely at the pot of holy oil. “That the price for his assistance?”

Crowley smiled his businessman smile with a flash of teeth, fingers tightening exaggeratedly around the pot. Dean wisely took that as an affirmation.

“And you trust him?”

Harry cleared his throat and said, instead of directly answering the question, “I’ve worked with him before.”

If Dean noticed the technical differences between the question and the answer he didn’t comment on it; from behind Dean Bobby sent Harry an unimpressed look that told him in no uncertain terms that half-assed misdirection like that wasn’t going to fool him any time soon. Harry shrugged helplessly. His level of trust varied on a case-by-case basis, determined by pre-set parameters and actual knowledge of the situation – any answer he gave would be as much a lie as it was truth, so it was better not to try and answer at all.

“If that’s what it takes to figure out what the hell is going on around here, then that’s what we’ll do. One more person’s hardly gonna make a difference at this point.”

With the decision made Harry stepped fully out of Crowley’s way, allowing the demon into the room proper.

“Glad we could come to an agreement,” he said, all teeth, and perched himself on the edge of the bed Sam had been sitting on.

To Dean and Bobby he must’ve seemed like a particularly eccentric contact, but many hunters and the people associated with the business were a bit off-centre, so there was nothing overtly suspect or concerning about a possessive or curious streak. To Sam and Harry, who knew full well Crowley was a demon, the whole thing was a painful farce of normality, kept together only by ignorance.

Harry really needed to learn to choose his words more carefully when making requests from Crowley, and stop leaving such open-ended promises from which Crowley could then take his pick. Something told him it wouldn’t matter for much longer though. If Dean had been able to see the true faces of demons in his dying days, there was no way an angel wouldn’t be able to tell straightaway that Crowley wasn’t human.

Their peaceful (if you could call it that) reunion hadn’t even lasted a week and was already at risk of being overturned.

Harry closed the motel door with a heavy heart and listened with one ear as the others finalised their game plan.

**oOoOo**

The shell of a barn they’d found to use was entirely unappealing, but Harry supposed that was what was so good about it. With concrete floors, wooden walls, and having been completely gutted of whatever it had once held inside, it was the perfect picture of abandonment. No one would bother them here.

Crowley only handed the holy oil off once they were there. Harry assumed it was because he didn’t want to risk getting dragged into the plebeian handiwork required to actually make the circle. God forbid he exert even the tiniest bit of effort towards even trifling manual labour in aid of humans.

Dean painted the circle, under Sam’s guidance, (“You think I can’t draw a decent circle by now?” “I’m just double-checking the lines join.”) while Harry stayed back, brushing shoulders with Crowley and mostly keeping an eye on him without making it super obvious to anyone other than Crowley that that was what he was doing. Bobby observed all four of them from afar, a shotgun hanging loose in his grasp; this might’ve been an ask questions first, shoot later scenario, but going into anything entirely weapons free was foolish. Always have a back-up plan.

When the brothers were done arguing over Dean’s artistic talents, all five of them gathered on one side of the barn.

Dean had a lighter as a back-up but Harry was technically in charge of setting the oil afire with his magic. With Dean as the one summoning Castiel it seemed better to have someone else set off the trap, and Harry just so happened to be the most convenient option.

With the preparation done, all they had left to do was call and hope the angel came.

That’s when things started getting a little messy.

“So…” Dean drawled, gaze darting between the rest of them. “How exactly do we summon an angel again?”

Crowley’s lips twitched, like he was fighting back an amused smirk. Harry sighed despairingly.

“Pray, I guess. And don’t bother asking me for guidance, I’ve never been a religious sort.”

There was a smattering of shrugs and nods – Crowley offered no opinion or advice, content to watch them flounder.

“Right then.”

Unsure and possibly a little embarrassed, Dean started pacing back and forth in front of them, at the edge of the circle, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“I don’t have to do the whole hand thing with closed eyes, right?”

Sam shrugged.

“Just do whatever, and if it doesn’t work maybe you will have to go a bit more traditional, but I’m sure it doesn’t really matter. There must be a reason he dragged you out of hell, so he must be paying attention. Just focus.”

Rolling his eyes Dean scoffed, but slowed his steps and looked away from them, head tilted slightly skywards.

“Oh Castiel,” he began, in a horribly fake tone of voice, “I, uh, I beseech thee to appear before me and, um, help me?”

With a hand over his mouth Harry tried to pretend his uncontrollable snickers were a sudden coughing fit. The glare Dean levelled at him was proof no one was buying it.

“Beseech? Really?”

“You come over here and try then, if you think I did such a terrible job.”

“Oh no, no no.” Harry waved his hands in surrender. “This is your angel, you do you.”

“Now we wait, I guess?” Sam interjected, obviously not keen on getting into arguments in a situation with so many unknown factors.

Harry agreed with the sentiment – it was all fun and games at home or in the motel room but this was business time – but an odd sound – ostensibly just a disturbance of air but he thought he’d heard wings and something otherworldly – interrupted them before anything more could be said. As one their attention shifted in that direction, where they found an unfamiliar man standing smack-dab in the middle of the circle.

Although they were all startled and still, Harry’s instinctive wartime flinch-reactions to sudden appearances often acted up in situations like this, and while these days his first reaction would be to go for a knife, he was currently unarmed, and a wave of magic burst from his fingertips, thankfully as useful sparks and embers and not a stunning spell.

All of them – Crowley aside – shifted a little uneasily as the sparks caught and the ring of fire flared into life. But the sight of the fire allowed them to gather themselves, because even though they’d been caught unawares the first part of the plan had still come to fruition.

“This is a… disquieting welcome,” the man – the _angel_ – said into the silence. His face was expressionless and his tone was monotonous and everything about him seemed entirely unperturbed by the situation, but there was something about the way he blinked, perhaps, that lent itself to the idea that he was, truly, a little surprised about the situation. Harry couldn’t be certain surprise was the right word, but there was some sort of emotion in that statement that Castiel maybe didn’t know how to express, or even know that he was trying to express it at all.

Castiel was both imposing and entirely underwhelming. Dressed in a suit and a trench coat he looked like a disgruntled businessman in a constant state of overtime-induced exhaustion, but Harry could _feel_ power from him in a way that simply screamed to whoever was listening that he was far from an ordinary human.

Dean cleared his throat and stepped a little in front of everyone else, meeting Castiel’s gaze head-on.

“Well, call it trust issues. I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

Castiel blinked again, long and slow.

“I do not understand. The only bones you possess are inside your bodies and I-” he cut himself off when his gaze shifted behind Dean. Brushing off his confusion – it seemed Heaven wasn’t keeping up with colloquialisms – his expression darkened. “You keep unsettling company, Dean Winchester.”

As Dean glanced back at them in confusion Harry dropped his face into his hands and sighed heavily.

Dean squinted at Castiel.

“Is that because you don’t like wizards or…?”

“You are mistaken. I am grateful for Harry Potter’s part in destroying an evil that threatened humanity. I was referring to that.” Castiel lifted an arm and pointed accusingly at Crowley, who gave a jaunty wave and a predatory flash of teeth.

“Um… Is this because he gave us that holy oil?” Dean asked quizzically, trying not to sound as lost as he was.

“No. While I would appreciate you releasing me that is a minor concern. Dean Winchester, you are the righteous man. Why are you consorting with demons?”

“Fuck,” Harry mumbled into his hands.

“Demons?”

Crowley laughed and took a step forward.

“Yes, hi, he’s talking about me. I confess, I couldn’t resist coming along to see the foolhardy angel who stole a soul from Hell. You’re not really what I was expecting, but I suppose they had to send someone expendable given they had no idea if it would even work.”

“I should’a expected something like this,” Bobby muttered from the back of the group.

“Hold up,” Dean said, making a bunch of time out gestures. “We’re getting our information from demons now? And _trusting_ that information? Oh god I let you sit in my car…”

“While I’m sure you having a meltdown would be fascinating, Dean, maybe we should deal with these issues one at a time, no? Angel first?”

Harry elbowed Crowley indignantly, because he was _so not helping_ , but only got a look of fond exasperation for his efforts.

Sam stepped forward, hands out, puppy-dog eyes in full effect. “Listen, Dean, we can talk about Crowley later, okay? We came here to get answers about the angels. Let’s just focus on that.”

It would have been better if Sam stayed quiet. Dean’s eyes narrowed in thought, gaze flicking between the three of them, and suddenly realisation dawned.

“You already knew,” Dean accused, jabbing an angry finger Sam’s way. “Both of you. And you just let him come, easy as you please.”

“Dean-”

“Nope.” Dean waved away Harry’s attempt at placation. “No. Shhh. You don’t get to talk anymore. I’ll deal with this… later. We’ll come back to this later, because I can’t deal with all these things at once. So.” He turned back to Castiel, and whatever congeniality he might’ve been willing to fake before was gone now. “Start talking. What’s the deal?”

“Elaborate,” Castiel requested.

Running his hand angrily through his hair, Dean glared.

“Want me to break it down? Fine. First, why did you break me out?”

“Because it was God’s will.”

Normally that sort of statement might have thrown him off, but Dean was running on anger and discontent at the moment, and it was good for pushing through surprises.

“Ok. Weird, but I’ll buy it for now and come back to it later. What was with all the screeching and destruction when I woke up? Was that your fault?”

“Indeed. I thought you might be able to perceive my true voice, but I was clearly mistaken. That is why I had to go and find a vessel, or we would not be talking even now.”

“Hold on. Vessel like meatsuit? As in, possession?”

Crowley laughed at how ill-at-ease the idea was making Dean.

“Does that really surprise you?” he mocked. “Angels and demons aren’t so different, functionally speaking.”

In response Castiel’s voice grew colder.

“This body belongs to a devoutly religious man who offered his services to me. He will remain unharmed when I leave. We do not abuse humanity as you do.”

Something about that seemed to amuse Crowley. He clicked his tongue condescendingly and shook his head.

“That’s only because none of you spend any time getting in amongst them. Just because you believe in God’s Great Plan while sitting in the clouds, it doesn’t mean none of you would give in to temptation if you tried interacting with those you’re supposed to watch over.”

As much as Harry hated to admit it, that made sense. You couldn’t make assumptions about action based on inaction, and you couldn’t label an entire species good or evil and expect them all to fit the mould forever. It was easy to forget sometimes that hunters were highly prejudiced, and that even demons weren’t as solely terrible as they liked to make them out to be. So angels not being wholly righteous? Not really much of a long-shot.

Drawing on his dignity, Castiel refused to give any further attention to Crowley’s provocation, and refocused solely on Dean.

“What is it you truly wish to know? What did you call to me for?”

“Right.” Dean fisted his hands at his sides, body tense from all the new information. “What do you want from me? What was so damn important that your god sent you to snatch me?”

For once Castiel looked reluctant to answer.

“I am not certain what I should tell you,” he said slowly.

A muscle twitched in Dean’s jaw as he ground his teeth.

“No one’s letting you go free until you give us something to go on. Harry will tend to that fire indefinitely – as punishment – until you give us reason to let you go. You’re better off telling us now instead of dragging this all out.”

“I have other duties I must attend to,” Castiel protested stiffly. Dean merely raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Very well. I was tasked with an attempt to prevent the beginning of the long foretold apocalypse. I raised you from perdition, but I was too late to stop the first seal from being broken. If the seals cannot be protected, then the apocalypse will come, and Lucifer will walk the earth once more.”

A stunned silence fell over them at Castiel’s proclamation.

Crowley voiced what was on all of their minds, if in a much more flippant manner.

“Well, that’s not going to be good for anyone.”


	4. Full House

 

True to his word, Dean was going to make Castiel work for his freedom.

Leaving Bobby inside with the lighter and the pot of holy oil, Dean herded Sam, Harry, and a now significantly-less-amused Crowley out of the barn. A monumentally huge bombshell had just been dropped on them, but there were some issues a bit closer to home that needed working out first.

Once they were a short distance away from the barn Dean turned to face them with a look of wild disapproval on his face.

“Was that Ruby chick not enough warning for you? Why would you go find some new demon to trade secrets with after that particular shit-storm?”

Sam’s expression was appropriately regretful – Harry couldn’t blame him for it when Dean represented basically every regular familial role wrapped into one person, a person currently on the warpath – but Harry refused to be regretful from a few angry words from a dead man.

“That would imply Crowley was a new acquaintance,” Harry interjected. “But I’ve known him for almost a decade.”

That admission shut Dean up. He stared incredulously for several long moments as his mind worked to fit that bit of information in with what he already knew.

“ _He’s_ the one? The crossroads demon?”

Feeling a _little_ cowed by the look Dean was giving him, Harry nodded.

“The one you made _your_ deal with?” Dean clarified.

Biting back a sigh, Harry gave his confirmation.

“And you just, what, have been hanging out with him ever since?”

“Not for the entire decade Dean; I was in no state – physically or mentally – to even want to think about tracking down the being who took my magic instead of my tragic life and try and have a friendly chat. But if it helps you somehow to imagine it that way then _sure_.”

“I remember you saying something like that before,” Sam said. “About your magic.” He pointedly ignored the part where Harry flat-out admitted that he’d been fully intending to die. “That must have been difficult.”

Harry didn’t even bother trying to disguise his snort of laughter.

“I guess you could say that. In a way my terrible childhood was actually good practise. I knew how to live without magic, to do things the mundane way, how to function outside of the wizarding world. The hardest part was mostly the reality that even if I wanted to – and I wasn’t nearly as magic-happy a person as, say, Molly Weasley, who used all sorts of housekeeping magic pretty much all the time – I wouldn’t be able to cast anything. That, and there _was_ a physical sensation of loss. People aren’t exactly lining up to get rid of their magical cores, so I might be one of a very small number of people who has any idea of how your magic shapes you.

“I had people around to drag me out of any funks I got into, and if I got really bad sometimes I’d just imagine someone like Draco Malfoy in my position, stumbling about and trying to figure out how to do pretty much anything without the aid of magic or house elves, and I’d have a laugh and feel better about it.”

“But you got your magic back,” Dean pointed out.

“Yes, very astute of you Dean. Eventually Crowley decided my magic wasn’t as much fun as he’d thought it would be, so he came back to rewrite the terms of our contract. We’ve been in contact on and off since then. And complain if you like Dean, but having someone hundreds of years old floating around who you can mine for information – even if that information usually costs – is pretty useful.”

“ _Books_ are useful. The _internet_ is useful. Carting a demon about is just _asking_ for trouble.”

Harry turned to Crowley and gestured helplessly, wondering if the demon was going to chime in at any point and maybe try and help out. Crowley just smirked at him, but he seemed a little lost in thought.

“You know how people come in different levels of kindness and douchebaggery? Demons are kinda like that too – maybe not the kind part, but the point is that they have different attitudes and opinions. I know there are way more Rubys out there than Crowleys, but that doesn’t mean some of them can’t be perfectly reliable.”

“For a price, or the right incentive,” Crowley added unhelpfully.

Dean was supremely unimpressed by Crowley’s contribution. He turned his attention to Sam.

“And you! How long have you known about this?”

Frowning, Sam rubbed his chin in thought.

“Maybe a year at most?” he offered uncertainly. It wasn’t like they’d noted it down on a calendar to celebrate the anniversary or anything. “I met him before you, well,” he gestured vaguely downwards, not wanting to mention Hell out loud. “But way after we found out about Harry’s magic. Harry was asking him if he knew anything about your contract. That’s how we knew Lilith had it.”

Thoughts of Lilith and how much of an epic failure their final plan had been dragged them all down for a moment, but they brushed it aside easily enough.

“Look, Dean, I can understand your annoyance. Past experience would prove its validity, and we did keep his identity a secret from you. To be fair, I wasn’t expecting him to show up himself and refuse to leave, so I hadn’t anticipated it being a problem so soon. But that’s on me for not clarifying what the payment would be for the holy oil.”

“Glad we’re all on the same page,” Dean grouched. “Can I gank this SOB?”

“Please don’t,” Crowley requested calmly. “I’m rather fond of this body. It would be such a shame to have to go find a _living_ person to possess after all this time.”

“I was thinking something a little more permanent,” he muttered.

Thankfully Sam was currently in possession of Ruby’s demon killing knife, so they didn’t have to worry too much about a sudden and unhelpful demise, but that didn’t mean Dean wouldn’t try something if he thought he had a good opening.

“Crowley can leave if you want,” Harry said, hands raised in placation. “But don’t you think we should talk about this whole apocalypse thing first?”

The tension in Dean’s body shifted from attack-ready to a more passive sort of stressed.

“It’s gotta be bullshit,” he said.

“But Dean, do angels even have a concept of lying?” Sam asked, one part genuinely soothing, two parts simply curious.

“I can’t claim to have met many angels in my time, but that pathetic thing in there won’t even use contractions. I doubt he’s capable of anything other than following orders like a good little soldier.”

Harry had to agree with Crowley’s assessment. He wouldn’t have put it so harshly, but it was true that Castiel’s communicative quirks and general unfamiliarity with human emotional responses made it hard to imagine him as a deceiver.

“And if he was told to lie?” Dean prodded.

Harry answered that one.

“If he’s not telling the truth, it’s not because he was told _to_ lie. It’s because he was _told_ a lie. He likely wouldn’t have any reason to suspect untruthfulness from another angel, so he wouldn’t question it. It would be a bold lie though. Either it’s the truth, and we really need a way to stop it from happening ASAP, or it was a lie to get Dean out of Hell, in which case someone wants something from you. Either way, we’re on their radar, and no matter what happens it’s liable to be trouble.”

“So it’s the enemy we sort of know or the enemy we really don’t,” Sam summarised.

Harry nodded. “Something like that.”

“It could be both,” Crowley added.

“I really hope it’s not.”

“The distinction matters to me,” Crowley continued, his tone suddenly serious instead of amused. “If someone Upstairs just wants to play around with you two chuckleheads, then that’s fine with me, I’ll leave you to it. But Lucifer? The Apocalypse? Humanity will be exceedingly lucky if they aren’t wiped completely off the face of the Earth, and _that_? That would be bad for business.”

“If you don’t die with us,” Dean countered, just to be contrary. But his eyebrows were furrowed in thought.

“Dean, listen. I know you don’t like Crowley being here. I _know_ you’re mad that I introduced Sam to him. And believe me, I’m well aware that he doesn’t care one way or the other if you live or die. But if Castiel’s telling the truth, if the fucking _biblical apocalypse_ is rearing its ugly head, then you – we – need all the help we can get. This isn’t the time to be picky about where it comes from. You can’t have enemies if everyone’s wiped out of existence.”

Harry hadn’t exactly ever _read_ the bible – he was hardly a religious person, and he only dug into things that were academically useful for a job he was researching for – but everyone knew on a basic level that the word ‘apocalypse’ meant really bad news. If Dean wanted to survive this – and Harry knew the Winchesters, he knew that now that they were aware of what was coming, there wasn’t a self-preserving bone in their bodies that would stop them from fighting what no one else knew was coming – then he needed to shove his prejudice to the side and _ask for help_.

“I’m not super comfortable with this either Dean,” Sam admitted, looking recalcitrant, as though he might have been betraying Harry’s trust by saying as much. “Ever since Azazel, way back when we were kids, demons have been messing up our lives. And while Crowley definitely finds Harry interesting, that’s not the same thing as loyalty. But what he said? His stance on all this? That’s selfish. And that’s why I think it’s true. You don’t have to like him. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like us much. But Harry’s right. We’re going to need help. You can’t turn it away without giving it a shot.”

Dean groaned as they teamed up on him, dragging his hands across his face.

“I can’t believe I’m even thinking about this,” he muttered.

“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” Harry assured. “Just ‘cause Crowley refused to leave today doesn’t mean he’s going to be around 24/7. Even if you say yes, he’ll only be around when we need him. He can do research on his own, and in places we can’t go, and he has a phone, so he doesn’t have to be here in person to relay anything he finds.”

“I also don’t answer to you,” Crowley added.

Rather than set Dean off again, as Harry feared Crowley’s words might do, Dean seemed to be thinking deeply. Maybe his refusal to even pretend to act subservient was somehow a relief? Merlin knows Harry wouldn’t trust it if a demon starting deferring to him.

“As long as you’re on our side…” Dean said slowly.

Crowley smirked and quipped, “Anything to ruffle a few feathers.”

Dean sighed heavily. “I guess you two are right. Stopping the apocalypse comes first, and chasing off potential allies this early in the game is a dangerous play. Fine. But no one deals with him alone. Can we agree on that much?”

It would be an inconvenience, but Harry could see where Dean was coming from with the request. He nodded.

“No trust,” Crowley bemoaned dramatically. “Even demons – well, ones with good business sense anyway – have their own sense of honour. I’m willing to honour a truce until Lucifer is firmly under lock and key, should that indeed be the situation, although I suppose I can’t vouch for anyone else. Most demons are woefully dreadful at long-term planning and risk management. You should consider yourselves lucky to have me.”

Harry elbowed him reproachfully in the side, but Dean appeared to be back to mostly ignoring Crowley’s presence since he’d made up his mind. It was probably an excellent choice for his mental health – Crowley usually couldn’t be bothered stirring the pot if no one was paying attention to him.

“Should we go back inside then?” Sam suggested.

Dean didn’t say anything in response, but he did turn back towards the abandoned barn turned temporary holding cell, and the others followed suit.

Castiel was, predictably, right where they’d left him – more literally than usual too, as he may not have moved even a single inch from where he’d been standing when Dean had shooed them all outside; Harry didn’t think angels were the type for nervous pacing.

Bobby wisely didn’t inquire about their discussion, though Harry had no doubt that those questions would come later when they were somewhere private again.

Harry wasn’t really sure where to go from here, but Dean jumped straight back into the fray.

“This seal business, break it down for me. How many seals there are, how many have to be broken, etcetera.”

A small crease appeared between Castiel’s eyebrows. “Uriel will be displeased upon my return. However, I suppose, having started an explanation, seeing it through will be no more harmful.” He rolled his shoulders almost imperceptibly – was he flexing his wings? “Lilith will break the 66th and final seal. The first seal has already been broken. There are 664 other seals, which can be broken in – so far as I am aware – any combination and any order, of which only 64 are necessary. Listing them all would be time-consuming, and I confess to not knowing many of them. Raphael likely knows them all, as does Michael.”

Though he may have had more questions, Castiel’s answer had Dean speechless.

Harry gave a low whistle, reluctantly – morbidly – impressed.

“I guess that’s why they call it a fated battle,” Sam murmured. “The effort involved to stop it once the ball starts rolling is way more than what you’d have to exert just to see it to completion.”

Bobby swore.

“You know,” Crowley mused, mostly to himself, “I’d expected it to be more difficult to break our dear king out of jail.”

“They wanted it to happen.”

Everyone turned to stare at Harry at his quiet realisation.

“The righteous man was their litmus test. If he breaks, then humanity is in the pits anyway, so it’s time for their angelic showdown. All the other seals are just flavour. With Lilith leading the charge it’ll probably be child’s play to break a mere 65 seals, so this is really just, what, a time buffer? To what, give Michael time to find a vessel in peace?”

“I do not understand,” Castiel said. “Heaven does not wish for Lucifer’s release; that was why I was sent to retrieve Dean Winchester.”

“Well that’s great and all,” Harry allowed. “But there’s no way Dean was the first righteous man to ever wind up in hell, and yet you’re the first angel to launch a rescue mission. Doesn’t that seem odd to you? Shouldn’t every misplaced righteous man be treated to their own jail-break?”

“Dean was in Hell for four months,” Sam continued, quickly latching onto Harry’s line of thought. “If rescuing him was so important – if they really wanted to prevent the first seal from breaking – why did they wait so long? It makes for a dangerous gamble that you obviously lost.”

“It took some time to gather the necessary power to attempt his liberation.”

Harry nodded. “Uh-huh, sure. But listen, Castiel, I don’t recognise that name, so forgive me for being assumptive but you aren’t exactly one of the big-wigs, right? If preventing the apocalypse is a Priority Mission for the angels – which it kinda ought to be – then why didn’t they just send one of the arch-angels? Wouldn’t that have been far more efficient?”

“I… You are casting aspersions upon the Heavenly Host. My gratitude for your actions, Harry Potter, will not keep you safe if you continue blaspheming like this.”

“Oh no,” Crowley cried, faux-dramatically, “I think you’ve offended the poor thing. Watch out Luv, he might try and smite you.”

“You don’t need to talk,” Dean muttered, side-eyeing Crowley with more than a little irritation.

“I don’t think I’m blaspheming. Is inquiring about the decision-making process considered blasphemous? Or do you just take personal offence to us mere mortals questioning your actions? I’m not blaming you personally, you know? None of this is _your_ fault. Dean’s only standing here right now thanks to your efforts, so it’s not like we aren’t grateful.”

“We’re _very_ grateful,” Sam added unnecessarily in a calming tone. “But surely you can understand us wanting to know why, if it was possible in the first place, it took so long?”

“Don’t waste your breath Bigfoot. Angels are programmed to obey, not ask questions. That little ‘free will’ thing you humans love? They aren’t really fans of it on an operational level.”

“Not even a little?”

“Take a real good look at Mister Foot Soldier over there and tell me he seems capable of making his own decisions.”

Almost as one, the four humans allowed themselves to fall quiet and take a moment to stare Castiel down, observing.

“At the very least, he ain’t pulling any strings,” Bobby declared.

Dean’s shoulders slumped as a realisation hit him. “Isn’t questioning him kinda pointless then?”

“D’ya have any better ideas?”

“Dean, Bobby’s right. This is the only thing we’ve got going for us. But, that being said, you’re the boss on this one. It’s your decision. We’ll respect whatever you decide to do, right guys?”

Bobby grunted an agreement. Harry shrugged but didn’t refute the statement.

There were a lot of things about the whole situation that didn’t make sense.

Harry was starting to piece together a bit of an image of what Heaven might be like, if Crowley’s remarks were in any way accurate, but that almost hindered them more than it helped.

If angels had free will and their own individual autonomy of thought and action, then that meant any one of them could be at fault for the seal breaking, through delaying tactics or purposeful misinformation or any other possible method of angelic subterfuge.

If they didn’t, and the masses received and acted out orders given from above, then that meant it wasn’t just some minor rebellion – it was a big time conspiracy. A conspiracy that no one knew about, because they were only told things that pertained to what they needed to do, and they didn’t have the strength of will – or the urge – to question any of it.

Angelic powers on a whole were still a mystery to them, and their only source of information and point of reference was a simple soldier.

How on earth were they supposed to uncover the source of a possible pro-apocalypse group if it comprised of angels stronger and higher up the food chain than Castiel?

“If you want us to stop shit-talking you, you’d better keep a close eye on us,” Dean said slowly, consideringly. “The best way to make sure we’re toeing the line is to just stick around, right? I know you said something about other duties, but ain’t I sort of your responsibility?”

Crowley grinned appreciatively. A demon always loved a good bit of manipulation, better yet if the victim lacked a proper understanding of manipulation in the first place.

“I do not-”

“You _are_ basically his overseer now,” Harry said quietly.

“That is not-”

“Look. Either you hang around to keep us on the straight and narrow, or you leave and you can’t complain when we get into trouble, as we inevitably will, and maybe you get in trouble too, since you weren’t keeping a close enough eye on us. It doesn’t matter to us. We’re just gonna keep doing what we do how we always have.”

“If it makes you feel any better Feathers, I can keep a good eye on them while you’re off in the clouds,” Crowley added coyly in Dean’s wake.

A dark look flashed across Castiel’s face, more a sensation than a physical scowl.

“You will stay away from Dean Winchester, Demon.”

Crowley laughed, so obviously delighted with how ruffled the angel had become that Harry almost wanted to laugh too.

“Make me.”

A circular argument devolved from there between the angel and the demon, Castiel righteous and unyielding, Crowley poking and prodding and purposely aggravating without an end goal.

The four humans crowded together off to one side, watching the spectacle and each individually wondering how their lives had come to this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If all goes according to plan, the next update will be two chapters, but it WILL be a long time coming. RWW is still my priority story for the time being.


End file.
